Letting Go
by Alohaemora
Summary: You somehow managed to slip your daughter's slender hand into that of another man. You let her go, at last, because you knew she'd be happy. And, in the end, that was all you'd ever cared about.


30 June 2000

You woke up early that morning. Earlier than everyone else. Molly was still curled tightly into the comforter, on your right, and you knew she wouldn't be awake for another hour at least. But in the back of your mind, you knew that you wouldn't be able to get any more sleep. Not that morning.

For a brief moment, you considered waking Molly up, just to share what was on your mind. But you decided against it almost immediately. You knew Molly didn't need any other concerns plaguing her mind that day.

Sighing heavily, you slowly dragged yourself out of your undeniably comfortable bed, regretfully leaving behind the warmth of the blankets. Careful not to make any unnecessary creaks and thuds, you tiptoed across the threshold, and quietly slipped out the door, pausing at the frame, as you always did, to glance back once more at Molly. The smallest of smiles graced your lips; she looked so peaceful, lying there, huddled beneath the blankets. She looked much calmer, her face less lined. But you knew it was only temporary. In just a few hours, she'd be right back on her feet, bustling around the house and preparing for the imperative event that would soon take place in your backyard.

You pushed that to the back of your mind. You couldn't think about that just yet.

The corridors were dark and the hushed stillness of the early morning lingered heavily in the air. You inhaled it all blissfully. Not often were you able to enjoy such serenity in your house. You squinted out the window; it couldn't have been much later than five o'clock, you discerned. The sun had yet to rise.

As you sauntered unsteadily down the staircase, an impromptu, uneasy feeling caused your chest to tighten. It wasn't a new feeling. In fact, the same feeling had been occurring to you repeatedly for nearly eight months. And each time, it was for the same reason.

Your daughter was getting married.

You knew you ought to feel delighted—_excited_, even. Yet, for some unknown reason, you simply could not bring yourself to. Ginny was a little girl, the apple of your eye. The same girl you had held lovingly in one arm, just eighteen years ago. And deep down, you knew that you just couldn't bring yourself to let that go.

You yawned widely as you approach the foot of the staircase. Suddenly, you frowned. A lamp had been lit downstairs. Your fingers instinctively closed around your wand, but as you padded silently onto the last step and glanced covertly into the sitting room, you released the breath you hadn't even known you were holding. A slender girl, with a long mane of red hair, was sitting at the dining table. Her hands were closed around a mug of tea, and her eyes were unfocused; she was staring vacantly at the blank stretch of wall in front of her.

She didn't notice you until you were sitting right in front of her. Then, she jumped wildly in her seat. But as soon as her eyes met yours, she smiled.

"'Morning, Daddy."

"Hello, sweet pea."

"What are you doing down here so early?" she asked.

Your arched an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same thing, you know."

"But, see, I asked you first," she smirked complacently, and you knew you'd lost. But then again, it seemed like you always lost, when it came to her.

"I couldn't sleep," you explained honestly.

"Oh." But she wasn't listening anymore. Her eyes were once again glazed over, and her gaze flickered around the room, until it flickered down to lie on her own fingers. On her left hand, she was wearing a small golden band, set with a single, shimmering diamond. She eyed it fondly for a moment before looking back up at you.

And she disclosed, "I'm getting married today."

It was as though someone had reached in and physically pulled out your heart, smashing it into bits and pieces in front of you. There was a large pit in the middle of your stomach now.

But you didn't. Of course, you couldn't let your daughter see you like that.

So, instead, you answered simply, "I know. Nervous, are you?"

"Not terribly," she shrugged, and you knew she wasn't lying. Your daughter had never been scared of anything. Her own wedding date couldn't intimidate her as such.

"Good." You smiled with as much affection as you could muster, and patted her arm softly. "Don't be. Just think…five hours from now, you'll be Mrs. Ginevra Potter." The words felt sharp in your throat, and you almost winced.

Fortunately, Ginny didn't notice this. A grin was playing at her lips, and her features had lit up. And suddenly, even you couldn't help but beam at the ecstatic look on her face.

"I knew I'd marry him, Daddy," she murmured.

You bravely ignored the voices screaming in your head.

"I'm happy for you, sweet pea."

* * *

><p>"Victoire—<em>Victoire<em>, please give Maman 'er wand back, ma chérie!"

"Somebody, get the door! Merlin's beard, who could possibly calling _now_?"

"Oh, Andromeda! It's Teddy—he's gotten hold of another gnome. Ron! George! _I told you to de-gnome the garden yesterday_!"

It was less than three hours later, but your house was already in shambles. People were running in every plausible direction, and your wife was bellowing orders to everyone in the family at the top of her lungs. You cringed slightly as she finally rounded on you, expression blazing.

For a moment, she merely stared at you. She didn't say anything, but you saw her expression soften. She surveyed you sympathetically. Perhaps she had guessed what exactly was bothering you. But if she had, she was tactful enough not to say anything. Instead, she clumsily patted your cheek, and strolled away.

You only had a few moments' respite to marvel at your wife's remarkable intuition before you were surrounded by your sons, all of whom were clapping you soundly on the back and exclaiming, "Father-of-the-bride, eh? How's it feel, Dad?"

You forced a smile and muttered a few positive remarks, here and there. They didn't notice the unusual hoarseness of your tone, for their smirks increased as you described just how happy you were that your daughter was going to marry Harry Potter. And you supposed that, genuinely, you _were_ happy that was him she was marrying. You loved the boy dearly, as though he were your own, and you'd rather it was him than someone else.

As if on cue, Harry himself entered the expanse, a wide grin plastered to his face. His appearance was greeted by a profusion of whoops and whistles from your sons, and they immediately engulfed him in a myriad of tight embraces and painful headlocks. You were glad for the distraction, and you covertly slipped out of the room, not aware that someone's eyes had followed your departure.

Just as you were about to climb the staircase, you heard someone shout your name, "Mr. Weasley!" And you swiveled around, coming face-to-face with a pair of startlingly green eyes.

"Harry, my boy, what's the matter?"

He surveyed you unblinkingly, and you felt distinctly uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze. Then, he sighed. "It's nothing. Just—recently...I—I couldn't help but get the feeling that you aren't very happy with the idea of me marrying Ginny."

You were genuinely surprised for a moment, but then a wry smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Harry had always been unfailingly good at discerning your feelings—anyone's feelings, for that matter. "Harry, I can assure you, I'm very happy that you're marrying my daughter today." You hesitated slightly, and continued, "But, I can't deny that I'm finding it a tad difficult letting her go."

"Mr. Weasley, I'll take good care of her." He sounded so earnest that you found yourself sympathizing with him.

"I know, Harry," you reassured him, clapping his shoulder. "And I couldn't possibly be happier about it. It's just…well…I'm her _father_, and she's my only daughter. It's only natural that I feel this way, isn't it?"

Harry looked still-uncertain.

You chuckled softly. "One day, when you have a little girl of your own, you'll know what I mean."

* * *

><p>"Arthur!"<p>

You started and glanced around. The golden satin walls of the wedding marquee greeted you, and you noticed that a large number of guests were already seated in their respective allocations. There was a mildly irritated buzz, as they swiveled around in their seats, evidently searching for the bride. Meanwhile, Harry's unruly groom's party—Ron, George, and Neville—were busy cracking jokes to keep the audience occupied. Suddenly, Molly's bright brown eyes loomed above your face, and she gave you a meaningful look. "Arthur, it's time! Go get Ginny—we need start the wedding!"

You immediately jumped to your feet and set off towards the house, wondering how you had dozed off for this long. Panting slightly, you flung open the Burrow's front door. You scrambled up the steps, two at a time, and paused fleetingly outside Ginny's room to catch your breath. Holding up your hand, you rapped sharply on the wooden door.

"Ginny!" you called desperately. "It's time! We're already late!"

The door swung open and Hermione appeared, closely followed by Luna. Both bore robes of pale yellow satin, and Luna, you noticed, had a dazzling sunflower tucked behind her ear. They smiled at you. And, as they made their way down the stairs, Hermione nodded in the direction of Ginny's door, gesturing for you to go inside.

"Ginny?"

Your breath caught in your throat as your daughter revolved slowly around to face you. Her long, red hair had been permed to perfection earlier that morning by a patient Fleur, and now hung freely down her back in soft, natural curls. She wore a fitted, simple, white bodice, embellished sparingly with a few frills, ruffles, and small white roses. Her long skirt flowed and fluttered slightly as she glided towards you.

But it wasn't this, nor the flawlessness of her simple, but elegant makeup that left you utterly speechless. It was how…_grown up_…she looked that caught you completely by surprise. And suddenly, it hit you—she was not a child anymore. She was eighteen years old, and ready to make a name for herself.

And she was getting married in just a few minutes.

"How do I look?" she inquired, smiling nervously.

"Stunning," you assured her, and she looked satisfied. You held out a slightly shaky hand, and she took it, leaning up to peck your cheek.

"Ready?" you whispered, not trusting yourself to speak normally.

She nodded, squeezing your hand, as you led her carefully down the staircase, and towards the front door. Molly was waiting vigilantly for the two of you outside the entrance to the marquee. Upon spotting you, she rushed forward, and grabbed you into a tight hug.

"Thank goodness you're all right," she whispered in your ear. "I was getting worried."

She turned to Ginny before you could retaliate, and you could see the pride radiating from her face. "You look absolutely gorgeous, Ginny, dear," she gushed. "Harry's such a lucky man."

Molly quickly departed in the direction of the marquee, and you glanced at your daughter, one last time. She looked eager, bordering impatient, to go inside. You couldn't blame her. After all, she'd been waiting for this moment since the age of five.

"I know you want to run in there, Ginny," you addressed your daughter in an undertone, as you escorted her towards the marquee. "I know you'll want to sprint down the aisle as fast as you can, but don't. Take a moment to enjoy this—y-your last official d-day as a—Weasley—" your voice hitched slightly. You took a deep breath.

Ginny turned to you, looking stunned. "Is that what's been bothering you?" She sighed. "Daddy, you _know_ I'll always be your daughter, right?"

Perhaps _that_ was what finally gave you the strength to lead your daughter down the aisle of entranced guests, towards an equally entranced Harry. Perhaps _that_ was what assured you, at long last, that that day was not the end, but only the beginning. You were not completely sure, but, either way, you somehow managed to slip your daughter's slender hand into that of another man. You let her go, at last, because you knew she'd be happy.

And, in the end, that was all you'd ever cared about.

* * *

><p>Hello, darlings! Here's another one-shot for you. This is the first time I've written anything in the second person, and I'm not sure whether I've pulled it off, so bear with me in the case that there are any errors.<p>

This story was prompted by my sudden curiosity towards what Arthur must've felt, giving his daughter to Harry. I mean, he had six sons, but only one daughter, and that's bound to make a difference, right?

Yours sincerely,  
>Alohaemora<p> 


End file.
